Steady Your Hand
by poetzproblem
Summary: "I forgot how much I used to hate seeing you with him." Future Faberry, continuation of 'Don't Blink You Might Miss.'


**Author's Note:** So I started this on the high from Valentine's Day and then just needed something happy to counteract the spoilers. It's a continuation of _Don't Blink You Might Miss_ because that Rachel and Quinn were begging me to tell a little more of their story. You don't absolutely _have_ to have read that to understand this, but it wouldn't hurt. It's fluffy and a little smutty, and please keep in mind that I'm not exceptionally good at either. Comments make my day.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit. And if I did—certain scenes wouldn't be cut from promos and the lighting wouldn't suck.

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><p><strong>Steady Your Hand<strong>

_Picture you're the queen of everything, as far as the eye can see, under your command  
><em>_I will be your guardian, when all is crumbling, steady your hand  
><em>_~Never Say Never, The Fray_

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><p>Rachel Berry loves New York. She loves the energy, and the diversity, and the fact that she can stop on almost any corner, at any time of the day or night, to get a soy latte. She loves Central Park and the Villages, Chelsea, and even Brooklyn, but she especially loves the bright lights of Broadway and the rush of applause after a performance. Still, for all her love of big city life, she can't deny that there's a certain charm in coming home to her roots. Like right now, walking down the brick sidewalks of the historic German Village in Columbus, Ohio on a beautiful spring afternoon, hand in hand with her gorgeous fiancée.<p>

Or it _would be_ charming, if said fiancée wasn't currently being frustratingly reticent. The restaurant is just a block away, and she really doesn't want to be late for their reservation, but some things are more important than punctuality. She plants her feet as they pass under an elm tree and lets the tug of their joined hands stop the forward momentum of the woman that she intends to marry.

Quinn Fabray turns with captivating hazel eyes full of concern and sensual mouth drawn into a thoughtful frown. "What's wrong?" she asks, immediately closing the short distance between them. It's a common occurrence by now—Quinn's reflexive instinct to protect her, to take care of her. Sometimes Rachel wonders if it's a specific result of their tumultuous past or just a natural facet of Quinn's character that she no longer feels the need to suppress. Whatever the reason, this side of Quinn never fails to make Rachel's heart flutter.

Well, just _looking_ at Quinn makes her heart flutter ninety-nine percent of the time. She's the most beautiful woman that Rachel has ever known, and she simply takes Rachel's breath away everyday, but especially in moments like this, with the sunlight illuminating her face and the breeze dancing with the golden tendrils of her hair. Still, Rachel knows that she'd never be moved this strongly if Quinn didn't also possess a keen intelligence and remarkable depth of character beneath all the pretty packaging.

She doesn't say a word—she really can't find any that are adequate in this particular moment—but instead reaches up to bury the fingers of her left hand into the silky hair at the nape of Quinn's neck, urging her head down. She rocks up to erase the scant few inches between them until her lips can press gloriously, deliciously against Quinn's.

Kissing Quinn Fabray is (was, always will be) a revelation. Rachel can barely remember what kissing felt like before she'd experienced it with Quinn, and she doesn't want to. She only knows that she's been completely addicted from her very first taste. It was inevitable, really, because from the moment they met, Quinn Fabray has been a drug that Rachel never could resist. She just didn't realize it at the time.

They're standing in the middle of the sidewalk. It isn't exactly the ideal location, even if Columbus is a fairly tolerant city, so Rachel does her best to ignore the passion that swirls to life in her belly (and certain areas farther south) when Quinn deepens the kiss. She indulges in her craving for just a moment longer, savoring the soft brush of Quinn's tongue against her own, before she reluctantly drags her mouth away and gazes up at her fiancée through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I am so in love with you," she murmurs, their lips still close enough that Quinn can probably feel every word. Rachel watches those beloved eyes begin to glisten, and she can read every emotion so clearly that she wonders how she ever could have believed that Quinn was a mystery. What lacks in words is so clearly written in gold and green.

Right now, those eyes are speaking of love, and gratitude, and just the tiniest hint of lingering worry. Rachel moves her hand to tenderly caress Quinn's cheek, and her thumb traces the curve of her lover's lower lip until she feels it curve and tremble. She knows what Quinn is thinking and feeling, even without asking. It's an ability that she never expected to have, partly because she's admittedly self-involved, but mostly because she's never been able to do this with anyone else that she's dated. Maybe she just never cared enough to try, or maybe it's just _Quinn_.

They've been together for almost four years and the best of friends for more than four before that. Rachel likes to pretend that they've always been friends—that silly part of her that still romanticizes everything—but she knows that those first few years of high school were anything but friendly. Even most of senior year was a tentative dance between apathy and genuine concern—at least until Finn Hudson had proposed.

Rachel really doesn't like to think about that time of her life. She was just so…lost. That's simply the only way that she can even describe it now. She lost herself in love and in Finn and in the idea of living out some kind of fairytale. Dear God, she'd actually gone so far as to nearly marry him before they'd even graduated from high school! She can't even begin to identify with that girl anymore, especially when she remembers what her foolishness had nearly cost Quinn.

Quinn had been one of the few people who'd cared enough about Rachel and her future to attempt to talk her down from her crazy—although, at the time, Quinn had, quite frankly, sucked at expressing her very valid points in any kind of way that Rachel could relate to. She's _so_ much better at it now. And, okay, yes—Rachel supposes that _she_ isn't quite as obstinate as she once was. They've both grown—together. Exactly as it should be.

"I love you. So much," Quinn whispers, cupping Rachel's hand with her own and placing a gentle kiss to her palm. The words melt into Rachel's soul, mixing and mingling with countless other similar professions that Quinn has spoken over the years, until they pump in her veins like blood. It makes her strong, and it makes her weak.

"You know that Finn isn't any kind of threat to us, don't you?" she asks, watching Quinn's expression carefully. Seeing him at the bookshop today had been…difficult. She can't pretend otherwise, even if she had done a damn fine job of acting like it didn't affect her in the least—well, she _is_ nominated for a Tony, after all. She can't deny that she'd cried more than her fair share of tears for a few months after they'd finally broken off the engagement and agreed to go their separate ways. Some of those tears had been shed directly onto Quinn's shoulder on a rainy weekend in the spring of their freshmen year of college. Quinn knows Rachel well enough to understand that this afternoon has brought back so many memories, both wonderful and awful. That's all they are, though, because, "I got over him a very long time ago."

Long eyelashes flutter, hiding green-tinted eyes from her view. Quinn sighs, "I know…I just," her eyes open again, and Rachel can see the momentary anguish reflecting back at her. "I forgot how much I used to hate seeing you with him."

And there it is again—another little reminder that Quinn's feelings for Rachel have always been far more complicated than a simple high school rivalry turned to respect. Rachel squeezes Quinn's hand in comfort, breathing out a sympathetic, "Oh, baby." She'd stopped them near a bench, so she pulls Quinn toward her as she takes a few steps back, until her legs hit the warm, painted metal. Quinn follows her as she sinks down, and Rachel wraps an arm around Quinn's waist, careless to the uncomfortable press of the grated seat against her arm. Quinn immediately melts into her and drops her head onto Rachel's shoulder, and Rachel can't resist pressing a kiss into soft, golden hair.

"I know that he's married now," Quinn says quietly, reaching across their bodies with her right hand until she's grasping onto Rachel's left, "and you're wearing _my_ ring," she continues, reverently running the pad of her thumb over the diamond on Rachel's finger, "and planning this big, romantic wedding with _me_, but," she puffs out a shaky breath and lifts her head. "Finn was your first love, Rachel," she whispers, and Rachel's heart aches at the tremor in her voice. "You almost _married_ him. You would have if he hadn't screwed up _so_ spectacularly."

Rachel can't suppress the humorless chuckle. "He wasn't the only one who screwed up, Quinn," she reminds her gently, even as she internally cringes at the memory of how utterly immature and not ready for a real, adult relationship she'd been. It had taken her several years and several failed attempts to learn the art of compromise, and she still hasn't fully mastered it. She's only come to understand with Quinn what it means to want another person's happiness as much as her own.

"I'm so glad that my ill-advised, youthful engagement came to its inevitable, bittersweet—albeit satisfyingly dramatic—conclusion," she adds, grinning in triumph when Quinn's lips curve with amusement. Quinn loves her rambling, though she teasingly denies it, and Rachel loves having someone who enjoys (and not just grudgingly tolerates) her effusiveness. She tangles their fingers together, growing serious once again, "because I am unwavering in my certainty that Finn Hudson wasn't the _one_. He may have been my first love, but Quinn, you…you're my forever," she vows.

Quinn's eyes glow with happiness, and her smile transforms into the one that Rachel loves best—unguarded and soft and just a little bit shy. She lifts their joined hands and, keeping their gazes locked together, dips her head to ghost a kiss across Rachel's knuckles. "And you're mine," she drawls, voice dropping into that sexy purr that makes Rachel quiver.

"All yours, baby," Rachel husks, helpless to resist the temptation to lean closer and capture soft, pink lips. She can feel Quinn's smile in their kiss, and it stops her from pressing for a deeper connection.

"I meant that you're my forever, too, Rachel," Quinn clarifies with a grin when Rachel releases her mouth. She wraps her arms around Rachel's waist and pulls her body closer, nuzzling her nose against Rachel's cheek. "But I like the idea of you belonging to me even more," Quinn whispers sensually into her ear, and yeah—Rachel could really care less about their dinner reservations right now.

Her mouth finds Quinn on a moan, and there is nothing remotely playful about this kiss—it's deep and passionate and filled with promise. Rachel tries in vain to get closer, but it isn't physically possible in their current location, and God—this really isn't the appropriate setting for intimacy! The realization sobers Rachel instantly, and she breaks away, breathless. "Let's go back to the hotel."

Quinn licks her lips as she drags in a calming breath, and Rachel has to stifle her groan. It's ridiculous how arousing she finds such a seemingly innocent action. Then again, Rachel is very well acquainted with exactly what that tongue can do. She's also well acquainted with how effortlessly Quinn Fabray can compose herself in the blink of an eye. "Later, sweetheart. I really want to take you to dinner first," Quinn reminds her.

"But Quinn," she whines. Her current appetite doesn't involve food.

"Oh, no…that sexy little pout of yours isn't going to sway me," Quinn warns her, standing and holding out her hand for Rachel to take. "Dinner first," she commands, pulling Rachel to her feet and leaning down to briefly nip at her lower lip. "Then dessert," she promises with a sexy smirk.

"You're very frustrating," Rachel points out irritably, far too aware that her body is still humming with the buzz of desire. Quinn laughs—joyful and unreserved.

"C'mon, Berry," she gallantly loops Rachel's hand over her arm, "let me feed you. You're going to need your energy for later," she promises, leading them toward the restaurant.

Rachel shakes her head at being 'Berried'—it isn't done often, and it's always playful—and she grins. "You know, in two months, you won't be able to call me that anymore."

"Mmm, I'll have to call you Fabray-Berry," Quinn says dreamily.

"Berry-Fabray," Rachel corrects automatically, "That is, if I planned to hyphenate—which I don't." Quinn's steps falter, and she looks down at Rachel in confusion. Rachel's grin grows considerably wider. "I've decided to become Rachel Fabray."

Quinn stops walking altogether and turns to face Rachel with darkening eyes. "You…you want to take my name?"

"I'll be proud to," she answers easily, "Of course, I'll be keeping Berry as my stage name, you understand? It's already on the marquee, after all. I wouldn't want to make them change it." And bless her heart, Quinn doesn't make any comments about all the other demands that Rachel makes daily. Really, she's not nearly the diva that some people make her out to be—she simply requires a professional environment in which her artistic talents can flourish to their fullest extent, and if that includes little things like insisting hot water with lemon be delivered to her precisely thirty minutes prior to every performance, well then—so be it. Rachel Berry is a diva. "Legally, however, I will be Mrs. Rachel Fabray."

Quinn's eyes grow impossibly darker, the green disappearing into a golden halo around ebony pupils. "Screw dinner," she rasps, "Let's go back to the hotel. We can order room service."

Rachel's lips curl into a teasing smirk, "Ah...ah, Quinn...you promised to buy me dinner first, and suddenly I am absolutely famished." She chastely pecks her fiancée's lips before bouncing away with a giggle. She ignores Quinn's frustrated groan and drags her into motion by their still joined arms.

"You can be such a tease," Quinn complains with a reluctant smile, falling into step with Rachel.

"Well, I learned from the best," she fires back.

Quinn places her free hand over Rachel's where it lay tucked into the crook of her arm, and gazes down at her with a smile that can't be tamed. "I really love you, soon-to-be Mrs. Fabray."

Rachel really loves the sound of that.

The remainder of their short walk—now free from the brief, dark cloud of old insecurities—is lovely and refreshing, and Rachel once again muses that that life outside of New York City is not entirely without appeal. She does appreciate being able to walk down a sidewalk, arm in arm with Quinn, and not be jostled and elbowed every other step. They do get a few more odd looks and raised eyebrows here than in New York, but it's tolerable. Not that either one of them really care at this point. Quinn had experienced the most difficult stages of her coming out in New Haven, so that by the time she'd finally moved to New York, she'd been comfortable in her sexuality and unafraid to express it. Conversely, Rachel had always been an active supporter of the LGBTQ community, being raised in the Berry household, so falling in love with Quinn—while it certainly had been unexpected—hadn't been any different to her than falling in love with Finn or the handful of men that had followed him. Well, actually, that's a complete lie. Falling in love with Quinn has been unlike anything she's ever experienced in all of the best possible ways.

They finally reach their destination, a charming redbrick building bearing the name _G Michael's Bistro_. They're fifteen minutes late for their reservation and normally they would have been turned away, but the hostess is apparently an avid Broadway devotee and recognizes Rachel immediately. "I saw you last November in _Funny Girl_. You were magnificent as Fanny," she gushes.

Rachel beams, instantly basking in the warmth of fan adoration—it never gets old. From the corner of her eye, she notices Quinn shake her head in amusement, but she allows Rachel to indulge her vanity for a few moments. She soaks in the praise of her extraordinary talent as the hostess—Linda—arranges priority seating for them, and she's happy to sign an autograph before she and Quinn settle into an intimate table for two.

"You know, if Linda were a few years younger, I might be worried she was out to steal you away from me," Quinn teases, but there's still a hint of insecurity in her eyes from earlier.

"Well, I do have a thing for older women," Rachel points out, referring to the eight months that Quinn has on her, and she grins when her fiancée mock glares at her. "And anyway, I spent two hours this afternoon watching men and women of every age and ethnicity drool all over you. You shouldn't begrudge me one overzealous fan."

"One here. Hundreds everyday in New York."

Rachel's smile widens. "I know. It's awesome, isn't it?" she asks excitedly, leaning forward over her menu. "And now you have your own."

"They don't recognize me on the street though."

"Well, no, not yet, but they will."

"God, I hope not," Quinn murmurs with a frown. "I'd kind of like to keep a little anonymity."

"That might be prove to be difficult, seeing that you're about to marry me, and my star is unarguably on the rise." Rachel is damn well going to win that Tony this year. She still believes that she was robbed the first time. So what if she was only twenty-two at the time—and really? Kristen Chenoweth is extremely overrated.

Quinn clicks her tongue, "I might just have to reconsider this whole wedding thing then."

Rachel sits up straight and glares at Quinn, "Do not even joke about such things, Lucy Quinn Fabray. We will be getting married on June 16th, you will be wearing a lovely white dress, and I will be taking _my wife_ to the Tony Awards to hold my hand and kiss me in joyous celebration when I win."

Quinn reaches across the table and takes her hand with a smile, stroking her knuckles with her thumb. "I can't wait."

Rachel relaxes instantly. "Admit it, Quinn. You like having fans, too. I watched you today, and you were in you element, talking with them about your book and signing dedications."

She chuckles, "Fine, yes. I admit it. I love doing book signings, even when I get blindsided by Finn Hudson, but that doesn't mean I want to deal with that kind of attention everyday. You know I like my privacy. It's one of the reasons I decided not to pursue acting."

"I thought you did that because you had to take that dramatic writing class in college and fell in love with it. And of course, because I told you how amazing your short-stories were."

"That, too," Quinn admits with a shrug. "In any case, I'm happy just to sway in the background and hold your purse on the red carpet."

"My God, you could never just be my purse-holder," Rachel admonishes. "You're my partner. I need you beside me, not behind me."

"I will be...always," Quinn assures her. "Just...preferably two steps out of the spotlight," she adds with a grin.

Rachel grins back, dropping her gaze and lowering her voice, "Two steps is too far away. I like you much closer, Quinn," she husks.

There's an answering spark in Quinn's eyes, and Rachel thinks of all of the wonderful ways that she'll get closer to Quinn later tonight. Those lovely images stay with her all through dinner, even as they talk about other things, so by the time they call for a car to pick them up (because it's a little too far to walk back to their hotel) Rachel is more than ready to have Quinn for dessert.

They slide into the backseat of the town car, and Rachel curls into Quinn's side, pressing her lips to the sweet spot on Quinn's throat that never fails to make her moan. This time is no exception. "Mmm, don't start something we can't finish."

"Who says we can't?" Rachel whispers naughtily. Quinn's gaze cuts up to the front of the car, and Rachel notices the driver's smiling eyes in the rear-view mirror. She sighs, reluctantly removing her mouth from Quinn's tantalizing skin. "Thank God it's a short drive," she grumbles.

Quinn grins and raises their linked hands to press a kiss to the inside of Rachel's left wrist, just over the tiny, nickle sized tattoo of a gold star. Rachel had gotten it inked there four years ago in commemoration of her Broadway debut as Maria in the revival of _West Side Story_. She'd felt the need to do something big for her first lead role, and she'd taken Quinn with her to keep her from passing out as she'd watched the needle repeatedly pierce her skin. Quinn had sat beside her and allowed Rachel to nearly crush her hand, and that was before their relationship had begun its transformation into something deeper than friendship.

The car finally comes to a smooth stop in front of the Crowne Plaza, and Rachel all but drags Quinn out and into the lobby. Quinn's laughter is happy and unrestrained, and her hand is gripping tightly to Rachel's as they stumble into the elevator. Quinn punches the button for their floor, even as Rachel is reattaching her lips to that pale, silky throat. Luckily, they happen to be alone this time.

"Jesus, Rach." Quinn rasps, clutching at Rachel's hips, and dragging her closer. Rachel smiles into the skin beneath her lips and presses Quinn up against the wall, lazily dragging her mouth up to a strong jaw and peppering kisses across a heated cheek until she finds the corner of Quinn's mouth.

"I love you," she whispers before she fully captures those lips and pours all of her emotion into their kiss. It's been an odd day, and all Rachel wants is to make love to her fiancée and banish every lingering ghost from their mutual past. She can almost taste Quinn's need to do the same. She's seriously considering the logistics of elevator sex when the chime of the doors sliding open pulls them from their escalating passion.

Quinn's fingers fist into the fabric of Rachel's skirt as she reluctantly drags her mouth away. "It's our floor," she breathes shakily, eyes dark with desire.

"So it is," Rachel smirks and pries Quinn's hands from her waist, leading her out of the elevator and to their room. She giggles when Quinn fumbles in her oversized bag in search of their room key, cursing under her breath when she can't find it fast enough. Rachel strokes a finger along Quinn's arm and presses a kiss to her silk covered shoulder. Quinn nearly growls, but she finally comes up with the key-card in triumph, sliding it into the lock and twisting the handle.

The moment that they're out of the hallway, Quinn drops her bag to the floor, wraps her arms around Rachel, and recaptures her mouth. Rachel's back thumps softly against the door as she allows Quinn to kiss her the way she's been wanting to all afternoon. They're finally alone, safely hidden behind a locked door, and nothing is stopping them anymore.

Quinn's mouth is insistent, and Rachel doesn't care to resist. She opens herself up to her lover, meeting every sensuous stroke of Quinn's tongue with her own. She feels elegant fingers dance over her body, shifting fabric until the bottom edge of her blouse hangs free from her skirt and the buttons begin to come undone. Part of her wants nothing more than to surrender completely and allow Quinn to do with her as she will, but a bigger part wants to be the one worshiping Quinn tonight.

Rachel lightly drags her nails down Quinn's back and over her hips until she can gently wrap her fingers around Quinn's wrist, halting her very impressive progress on removing her blouse. Quinn breaks away with a frown, visibly disappointed, but Rachel only smiles. "Later, baby. First I want to show you how much I love you."

"Then let me get you naked," Quinn purrs, attempting to reach for her last two buttons.

Rachel laughs and bats her hands away again. "Sometimes I really wonder what you were doing in the celibacy club," she muses.

"Pot and kettle, sweetheart," Quinn answers with a smile. "And the short answer is, I was a closeted lesbian. What's your excuse?"

"You," Rachel tells her, and even though they both understand that it wasn't because Rachel was secretly harboring a romantic or sexual attraction to Quinn at the time, she was most definitely in that club because she just never could seem to stay away from Quinn Fabray. Quinn's eyes glisten suspiciously, but Rachel knows that they're happy tears.

She takes Quinn's hands in hers, lifting them both to her lips to kiss those beautiful fingers. She straightens from the door and maneuvers Quinn back towards the bed. As erotic as sex against the door might be, it isn't what she has planned for tonight. At least, not yet.

She does take pity on Quinn, though, and replaces her hands on the top button of her blouse, allowing Quinn to flick the last two open, and push the fabric from her shoulders. Her shirt floats to the floor with a gentle swish, and Rachel immediately recaptures Quinn's hands, placing them lightly at her naked waist with a silent command that she keep them there. She steps into Quinn and presses a kiss to the cleft in her chin. "Let me love you, Quinn." And she can feel the shudder rock through her body.

Those words never fail to turn Quinn to jelly under her touch. She knows (of course, she does) that the thing Quinn Fabray wants—has always wanted—above all else is to be loved. Well and truly loved. And all Rachel wants is to be the person who makes Quinn feel loved like that for the rest of their lives.

Her own fingers make quick work of Quinn's blouse, and she guides Quinn down onto the bed. Her heart knows every curve and line of the body beneath her, and her hands follow a familiar path. She tugs at the button of Quinn's slacks, loosening the zipper until she can coax the fabric over Quinn's hips and down those long, muscled legs.

Quinn has recited sonnets dedicated to Rachel's legs in the past, but her own are every bit as worthy of poetry. She ghosts her mouth over a toned calf and leisurely kisses her way up over a thigh, teasing at the edge of lace panties. Quinn's hips buck beneath her and fingers tangle into her hair. "Rachel, please," Quinn moans impatiently.

Rachel smiles, but she doesn't linger where she knows Quinn needs her most. Instead, she pokes her tongue out and trails a wet, swirling path up over Quinn's belly. Quinn hisses in frustration, "You suck."

"Mmm, occasionally, but right now I'd rather lick." Her nose nudges the underside of Quinn's breast, and she turns her head to nip at the lace covered globe. "And bite."

Quinn's back arches and her hands slip from Rachel's hair to rake over her shoulders, catching in the clasp of Rachel's bra and tugging. "If you don't get us both naked right now, I'm calling our wedding planner and ordering the doves."

Rachel gasps and jerks her head up. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me," Quinn challenges.

She doesn't really believe that Quinn would do such a thing—she knows how Rachel feels about using animals that way—but she isn't going to test her. Mostly because she's every bit as eager as Quinn to feel their naked bodies pressed together. "Just so you understand, this is not me giving into your questionable attempt at blackmail," she insists, even as she allows Quinn to unhook her bra and drag it down her arms.

"Mm, really?" Quinn purrs, running her fingertips over Rachel's skin until they tease feather-light circles around her nipples.

"T-this is simply...me allowing a mutual desire to be met in a more expedient fashion," she breathes, reaching for the zipper on her skirt and sliding it down.

Quinn groans beneath her, screwing her eyes shut and lifting her hips until they both gasp. "My God, you are so fucking sexy when you get verbose."

Rachel bites into her lip and shimmies out of her skirt, shifting down until her legs fall between Quinn's. "And you're so fucking sexy when you curse," she rasps against Quinn's lips, punctuating her words with a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Quinn's hands slide down to cup Rachel's ass, pulling Rachel into her thigh in just the right way. She groans into the kiss and slips her hands under Quinn's back to free her from her bra. She can feel Quinn trying to take control, hooking her thumbs under Rachel's panties and slowly working them down, but she's determined not to give in this time. Still, she can't resist taking a moment to enjoy the sensation of their bare breasts finally pressing together. She also can't help but appreciate Quinn's skill at divesting her of her undergarments, as her panties are currently being flung away off the tips of Quinn's toes.

She can feel those talented fingers dipping between her legs, and though it's difficult, Rachel quickly twists her lower body out of reach, jerking away from their kiss in order to capture Quinn's wayward hands. "Rachel...what...?"

"Stop trying to distract me," Rachel playfully cuts her off. "I'm meant to be lavishing you with adoration." She twines their fingers together, and presses the backs of Quinn's hands into the mattress beside her head. Rachel leans forward again, kissing Quinn reverently. "So behave," she admonishes softly.

Quinn sighs beneath her, but her arms go lax. "You know I'll pay you back for this," she warns.

Rachel smirks, "I look forward to it."

Now that Quinn has stopped battling her for dominance, Rachel trails her fingers down Quinn's arms, following the muscle and sinew around her elbows and up to her shoulders. She plants a soft kiss to Quinn's left shoulder blade, following the path of her hands with her mouth—over her sternum, along the upper swells of perfect breasts. She lingers at Quinn's nipples, begging for her attention and captures one in her mouth, loving it with her tongue as her fingers pay homage to its twin before alternating to give them both equal care. Quinn's breath is coming in shallow pants, and her shoulders arch back to give Rachel better access.

She pauses for the briefest of moments to press a kiss to the rib just beneath Quinn's left breast, above the faded scars from her accident and over the elegantly scripted, black ink that decorates her skin. It's another girl's name, but Rachel is more than okay with the small, permanent tribute to Quinn's daughter. It's the only tattoo that Quinn sports these days, having had her unfortunate tramp stamp removed in college at the request of her former girlfriend, who'd been completely turned off by it. Rachel hates to think of the other women that Quinn has been with, but she'll always be grateful to Sarah for that, at least.

Rachel forces those unpleasant thoughts from her mind and moves further down Quinn's body, building her desire into a fevered pitch. Her hips are rolling beneath Rachel in a steady rhythm, searching for friction, and her hands are tangled into the sheets to keep from guiding Rachel where she wants her. Eventually, Rachel trails her way down, dipping her tongue teasingly into Quinn's belly button as her fingers curl under Quinn's panties and drag them down. Quinn moans and lifts her hips, losing the battle with her control as her hands let go of the sheets and delve back into Rachel's hair. "You're making me crazy, Rachel. Please, just put your mouth on me," she begs.

Rachel considers drawing this out even more, teasing Quinn, but tonight isn't about that or testing her power—it's about love—so she's happy to fulfill Quinn request. She slips down, spreading Quinn wide and carefully hooking pale thighs over her shoulders. She drapes an arm over Quinn's abdomen and inhales the intoxicating scent of Quinn, that addictive nectar that she craves, before she slowly trails her tongue over exposed, pink lips, savoring the taste of her lover's arousal. Quinn groans, and her fingers flex against Rachel's scalp. "God, yes," she hisses, gently pressing Rachel's head just a little closer.

Rachel smiles against Quinn and lets her tongue come out to play, flicking against Quinn's clit in skillful acrobatics. She's damn good at this, and she knows it. Years of diction lessons and mastering breath control had turned out to have benefits that she never could have guessed at as a little girl. Quinn is certainly appreciative, and she lets Rachel know in breathy moans and bitten-off curses. Rachel's right hand, which had been stroking Quinn's thigh, moves between their bodies, parting Quinn's folds more fully until she can slip two fingers inside of her fiancée. Quinn's hips buck up from the mattress, and she releases a long, loud groan. Rachel attempts to press her back down, but she knows from experience that it's fairly futile. She just has to hold on and ride out Quinn's urgent rhythm. Her fingers curl and pull at Quinn's walls, and she feels them tighten down. Rachel knows that she's already close, and she curls her fingers again, effortlessly finding that sweet spot that will fling Quinn over the edge.

Quinn's thighs tighten around her shoulders, and her heels dig into Rachel's lower back, but she doesn't care about the pain. Quinn is chanting her name in that smoky, breathless voice, and it's her very favorite song. Her teeth graze Quinn's clit as she sucks on it, and with another twist of her fingers, Quinn's body bows, tensing and trembling in the grips of her orgasm. She shouts Rachel's name to the ceiling, and Rachel moans and flattens her tongue, lapping up every last bit of Quinn's pleasure.

Eventually, Quinn's body goes lax beneath her, and her fingers loosen their hold in Rachel's hair. She reluctantly pulls her mouth away and eases her fingers from the still quivering haven of Quinn's body. "My God, you're magnificent," she whispers in awe as she takes in Quinn's flushed skin, glistening with perspiration (because Quinn doesn't sweat.) She loves seeing Quinn this way, laid open and trusting and so beautiful beneath her.

Quinn's belly shakes with silent laughter, and she weakly grasps at Rachel's shoulders, urging her up. "I think that's my line," Quinn manages between gulps of air, pulling Rachel close and kissing her. "I love you," she says when their lips part.

"Of course you do. I'm amazing," Rachel jokes.

Quinn's eyes narrow, "Cocky."

Rachel's brows raise. "Nope. No cock at all. That's why you like me."

Quinn laughs, tightly hugging Rachel to her. "One of many reasons," she admits with a giggle, pressing her lips to Rachel's temple. Her arms slacken a little as her breathing starts to even out, and a quick glance at Quinn's face confirms that her eyes are closed and a soft, content smile curves her mouth. Rachel sighs and tucks her head into the crook of Quinn's neck. It's nice, being like this—so nice that Rachel is nearly able to forget her own unsatisfied arousal. Tonight is about Quinn, so she's perfectly okay to just fall asleep exactly like this.

"Mmm...Rachel?" Quinn mumbles sleepily.

"Yes, Quinn?"

"Time for payback," she purrs, pouncing like a lion and pinning Rachel beneath her before she can even process that Quinn is most definitely awake. The wicked smirk on those lips sends a shiver through Rachel. Her body reignites, and she sinks into the mattress in complete surrender as a mess of wild, blonde hair disappears down her body. Oh yeah, it's going to be a long, loud, fan-fucking-tastic night, and she wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
